Promises and Pomegranates by Sav R. Miller
Chapter 14
I’m still glaringat our waitress when Kal exits the building, leaving me alone inside without a single word in parting. I blink as sunlight quickly floods the floor, momentarily allowing me to see the ocean-themed artwork hanging on the paneled walls and the giant talking bass mounted above the bar.
Having never been to one in Boston, I can’t accurately judge, but I’m willing to stake my life on this being a completely different atmosphere from the nightlife there.
Maybe it’s part of the small, kitschy island charm. Maybe I’m just sour because Kal’s best trick seems to be ditching me.
Gwen walks back over with a ceramic bowl in hand, setting it down on the table in front of me. Thick steam rolls off the dish, its vomit scent smacking me in the face. Wrinkling my nose, I push it away, taking a sip of my drink.
Placing her hand on her hip, Gwen nods at the lasagna. “Aren’t you gonna eat what you ordered?”
Her tone gnaws at my nerves, eating away at my resolve. “I don’t know. Are you going to stand there and watch?”
“Probably not. I don’t want to bear witness when you puke your guts up.”
Rolling my eyes, I fish my phone out from my purse, checking my unread texts. There aren’t many, a couple from Ariana asking my opinion on her wardrobe, one from Stella saying she misses me being a buffer between her and Ari’s fashion choices, and one from Mamá saying not to panic, because she’s coming for me.
Apparently, even though I’ve been in Aplana over a week now and have sent no distress signals home, my parents are still pushing the narrative that I’m some sort of unwilling victim in this marriage.
Ironic, considering they had no problem tying me to the same fate with another man, though I suppose my relationship with Mateo benefited them in a way mine with Kal doesn’t.
Still, they never gave me a real choice. It was their way, or face certain death by the hands of the Elders.
I should’ve picked death.
In the end, I feel like I did, anyway.
Typing out a quick reply to my sisters, I leave my mother’s message unanswered, stuffing my phone back into my purse and scooting from the booth.
Gwen quirks a blonde brow. “Leaving without paying? Classy.”
I sling my purse over my shoulder and hold it tight against my side, unwilling to let her know that even if I wanted to pay, I wouldn’t have anything to do it with. Not only does my super considerate husband abandon me in town, but he also leaves me with no money or knowledge of my whereabouts.
“Apparently my husband owns this place, so... put it on his tab or something.”
Spinning around, I don’t wait for her response as I head for the front door. My hand grazes the push bar at the same time someone’s fingers curl around my elbow, yanking me backward.
My arm flails blindly, jabbing in the direction of my assailant; the back of my hand connects with his cheek, a satisfying crack echoing through the air as I smack him.
“Jesus,” the man says, wrenching my hands behind me, pulling so I’m flush with his chest. His breath is hot in my ear, and I squirm violently as I try to get away, wondering why the other people in the bar aren’t helping me.
“Stop moving, bitch,” he grunts, shaking me a little.
“Let go of me and I will,” I spit, strands of hair sticking to my face. Sweat beads along my hairline, fear wedging its way into my heart even though I’ve been in this kind of situation before.
With Mateo, I always knew how it would end, with bruises and chipped teeth. By the time he was seventeen, Mateo had had two oral surgeries and at least four veneers put in.
But this is a stranger, in a foreign place, and I don’t necessarily know any of his potential weaknesses. In the position I’m in, arms pinned to my sides, doubled over with him pressed on top of me, my normal defense mechanisms are skewed at best.
Still, I manage to slip one arm free, balling that hand into a fist and swinging it over my shoulder; I hear it connect with bone, feel it split beneath the force, and my assailant drops me, clutching his nose and hissing a string of profanities.
“Fuck! This bitch just broke my nose!” he moans, cupping his palms over his face. His chin-length, dark blond hair falls over his eyes as he stoops over, trying to catch his breath.
“Dr. Anderson finds out you called her a bitch, and I guarantee he’ll break more than just that,” Gwen says from behind the bar, stopping at the tap to fill a glass.
The few other customers milling about have either managed to somehow miss the scuffle or are trained to ignore commotion, because no one even bats an eye as I distance myself from my attacker. After I have a second to collect myself, I recognize him as the man behind the bar when we first walked in, the gold chain around his neck giving him mobster vibes.
His boat shoes, however, do not.
“He’s the one who asked me to keep an eye on her,” the man grumbles, narrowing his eyes at me. “Should’ve known he was just setting me up. I bet he thinks Violet calling in is my fault.”
Gwen rolls her eyes. “As much as you love playing the victim, Vinny, I doubt he thinks you had anything to do with Violet not showing up. That’s just the way seasonal hires work. He knows that; you can’t own half the island and be unaware of how business is.”
Kal owns half the island?
A heaviness descends on my bones with the realization that I don’t actually know this man at all.
The man I’ve watched and admired from afar since I was a kid, who inspired a love of poetry and nature and life in me despite being the embodiment of the very opposite, seems to be entirely different from the one who forced me to come here.
I’m not exactly sure how to reconcile the two.
Finally straightening, Vinny drops his hands, stretching his lips in a circular motion. He makes eye contact with me just as I turn to leave again, a strangled sound ripping from the back of his throat.
“Seriously... woman. You can’t leave. Kal will skin me alive if I don’t keep an eye on you like I promised.”
I raise my eyebrows, nodding my chin at the bruise spreading up the bridge of his nose. “If you try to touch me again, I’ll wear your skin. Kallum isn’t the boss of me, nor do I need a babysitter.”
“What you need is cash,” Gwen mutters, sliding down the bar to tend to a customer with a big, purple sun hat.
Vinny sighs, taking a step toward me. “Please don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”
His hand slips into the pocket of his cargo shorts, and I have a momentary flashback to the recurrent nightmare I kept having in the weeks following my one night with Kal—how they always started out so tame, with me reading or writing in a beautiful meadow, connecting with the earth in the most primal way.
How Mateo’s presence always seemed to ruin them, and they’d end with me being accosted with a chemically-laced cloth until I passed out.
The image lashes against my brain so quickly, I see a quick burst of white light. Then it’s shifting, molding from my imagination to something more concrete, something real.
A memory, not just a dream.
Kal approaching me on my balcony back home, removing a syringe from his coat pocket. Me giving in immediately, just because I didn’t feel like fighting it.
What was the point, when he’d find me regardless?
For only the second time I could recall, I’d been given a choice. A shitty choice, but a choice nonetheless: marry Kal or watch him slaughter my loved ones. And after, probably me.
I knew he could do it.
Even worse, I knew he would.
That’s the problem when you associate with men like him; the kind who ooze power, know how to wield it, and know what to do to keep it. The kind who will spit in your face, then offer a handkerchief to wipe it off, so you end up owing him something instead.
The kind with very little to lose.
I haven’t had one of those nightmares since I’ve been on the island. Maybe that’s because the nightmare manifested.
Whatever the reason, when I see Vinny pull out a similarly shaped object, uncapping it with his thumb, my instincts kick into overdrive for the first time since all of this began.
“Uh...” Gwen says, moving back down the bar toward us, eyeing the needle in Vinny’s hand. “Did he tell you to drug her?”
Vinny scoffs. “He said to keep an eye on her. I can’t very well fuckin’ do that if she isn’t here, now can I?”
“This is definitely not going to end well for you,” she mutters, shaking her head.
But she doesn’t stop him.
He pounces like a hunter zeroing in on its prey, hands vying for my neck, and I lean into the movement.
He’s stocky, but it’s clear the second I grab his wrists that he’s only concerned with glamor muscles; he loses his grip easily, the syringe falling from his fist and clattering to the floor. He bends to get it, shoving his elbow in my face. It connects with my eye, and I stumble back from the sudden brunt force, pain lancing across my forehead.
I can already feel the bruise, blood coagulating beneath the surface of my skin.
Satisfaction rolls through me like a thick fog, settling deep in my soul as I focus on the pain, using it to propel me into action.
Raising my leg, I kick upward, aiming for his groin.
When my shin makes contact, Vinny groans long and throaty, like a man with sudden tonsil issues. He doubles over, losing the needle again, and I kick once more for good measure, then walk around as he writhes on all fours, gripping his ears with my fingernails and driving my knee into his forehead.
Putting his arms up in surrender, he ducks his head, one hand dropping to the floor. I glance up at Gwen, who’s watching with a bored expression on her face, like this kind of thing happens all the time.
Given the complete disinterest of the other customers, maybe it does.
Pushing my purse strap farther up on my shoulder, I lift my foot and drop it onto Vinny’s fingers, reveling in the crunch of his bones beneath my weight. He squeals like a gutted pig, his other hand stretching and twitching as if having sympathy pains.
I start to turn away, my eyes back on the exit, when I feel a sharp sensation prickle on the back of my calf. Glancing down, I see Vinny’s hand wrapped around the needle from before, which he drags quickly from where it’s just penetrated my skin.
Panic floods my chest, and I look up at Gwen, who stares with wide eyes, mouth slightly parted.
“Vinny...” she says, an edge of worry creeping into her voice.
He rolls onto his back, tossing the needle behind the bar and grabbing his crotch. “Whatever. She had it coming.”
My chest tightens as the seconds pass by, my feet apparently frozen in place as I watch Vinny go fetal on the floor. My heartbeat kicks up, pulsing so fast and loud it’s all I can hear between my ears, and fear claws at my throat, making it difficult to breathe.
I turn around, unsure of what to do, or how long it’ll take for whatever he just injected me with to kick in.
Gwen doesn’t come after me even when my feet start forward, moving me to the door. Pushing it open with shaking hands, I squint against the sunlight and ignore the cool sea air, taking a moment to let my eyes get used to the drastic atmospheric change.
Heart in my throat, I glance up and down the alleyway, realizing I’ve somehow exited through the wrong door. Unsure of how I got turned around, I grab the handle to get back inside, finding that it’s locked behind me.
Swallowing, I shuffle down the alley, my eye throbbing with each step I take until I come to a stop back on the main street.
I don’t see Kal anywhere, and the idea that I’ve actually been abandoned resurfaces, making my stomach cramp. Confusion solidifies in my psyche, rejection weaseling in and making me feel like an idiot.
Just because he gives you his credit card and a couple of orgasms, doesn’t mean he’s interested in more.
Besides, I shouldn’t even want more. Barely any time has passed since our forced union, so what exactly did I think was going to happen? That he’d reciprocate the level of obsession I’ve held for him my entire life, and somehow we’d find a way to make it work despite the outside obstacles hell-bent on keeping us apart?
No, Elena. This isn’t a Disney movie or some romantic poem.
Stupid, stupid girl.
Letting my attraction defy reason, it’s been keeping me locked inside that house without even trying to escape.
Casting a glance up and down the street again, I purse my lips, considering.
Sucking in a lungful of air, I ignore the unease rippling inside of me and straighten my spine, adjusting the hem of my dress with one hand.
And then, I run.
